City girl goes island

You know how sometimes when one door closes, another, better one, opens? Flashback to the beginning of December in Toronto. It was freezing cold and I just got let go from my warehouse work, seeing it as the ultimate sign to start writing more than ever. One week later I found a fancy job as a communication specialist at a scientific research institute. It took me eight hours of exams, two job interviews, Saturday meetings and a total makeover to fit into their corporate world. But I got the job! 

All I had to do now was change my dresscode, hide tattoos, take out piercings, wear skirts that cover my knees and look like a corporate copy. And I would have to stay in Toronto until my Canadian visa expires. Okay, I thought, I can do this. I was a bit nervous. With shaky hands I stored away my dreams of moving to Vancouver Island and writing about things that don't necessarily involve scientific research while wearing golden flower dresses and dying my hair pink. The company offered me a welcome dinner and a salary I thought I would never earn in this lifetime. I would start as soon as I returned from my month of winter holidays in Belgium. 

But on the last day of 2016 I got an email from the scientific institute. Bad news. They were not able to give me the job. I saw the bubble of me looking like a business woman in my corporate outfit pop, together with the idea of living in a big grey city for another six months, working a 9 to 5 job writing lab reports while wearing fake glasses. (When I think of myself as a business woman, I always wear glasses.) Pop! Nothing left. But relief. 

Again, an ocean of possibilities opened up and as the waves waltzed in, so did I. I decided not to let this shake my mood and danced all ideas of elegance away. Fresh adventures, I thought as I twirled around in my glitter dress. When the headache kicked in and sparkles were traded for PJ's, I opened a new email. A friend from Vancouver Island was looking for a roommate. If I'm interested to move in with her and live in the finest of Canadian nature, between ocean and mountain, lakes and pines, beach and bears? I didn't have to think twice.

I packed all my glitters, flowers, dresses that dramatically show both my knees, art supplies and dreams into my backpack and booked a flight to BC. Island life, I'm ready!

My guardian angel Lydia

While working in a big soap factory, I had happy days and useless ones. You're at home writing, walking in the park, doing yoga, meeting up with friends and feeling all joyful, until the clock warns you to get on that train right now, destination uselessness. Eight hours would crawl even though I was busy. Peeling off labels, putting other labels back on pots and bottles and one minute is a lifetime. 

It was on a particular useless day that Lydia walked into my life to change my world forever. She was new and I showed her around. We worked together all day, it felt like only five minutes. She must have been in her sixties, a grandma from Ghana with an amount of stories that would make a library blush. Stories of Africa, arranged marriages, tragedy and love. Even when sharing tales of hard times she has been through, she always kept that glow, that twinkle in her eyes. She told me: "Baby, don't take anything for granted. Enjoy every moment with your loved ones, because when they are gone, there will be nothing left but memories." 

She had lost her beloved husband but was still positive and enjoying life to the fullest. I told her I admire her positivity. "You are such an inspiring woman," I whispered. She smiled, looked me straight in the eye and said: "Every morning when I wake up, I have two choices. To be happy or to be sad. And every day I choose happiness."

Those words kept ringing in my ears for a very long time. I saw her the next day and gave her a big hug. Such a great connection created by sharing stories. She winked and her eyes had that twinkle. That was the second and last day I saw Lydia. She didn't come in to work anymore, which made me wonder if she sensed the uselessness of the job and realised the factory didn't fit in her vision of happiness. Secretly I think she was a guardian angel who walked into my life just to put pink glasses on my nose and make me see the world through her positive eyes.

Vivian Maier

It's a late Sunday night, the only light shining in my eyes is a reflection of the snowy city sight. While the rest of the world sleeps, I slam doors with poetry. Hidden underground, far away from streetcar sounds, we drink wine, talking louder all the time. After midnight, we stumble outside. It's like we're the only people alive under these snow covered skies. We talk poetry and street photography. How Vivian Maier could be Amelie. Stories of years kept in boxes for the finder to reveal. Art safely tucked away in a nanny's brain.

How being weird justifies all your strange. People don't linger around the strange, they keep their curiosity for things they can taste. Like all different ways to eat PB and J. If they would only have stayed in your strange haze, eaten a spoonful of your strange taste. Then art would have had an audience. Then you would not have been the odd one out. You would have been the artist. Be called the artist. You would drink your coffee cold and wear fancy glasses. Take pictures of garbage bins. Of angry women, children crying, snapping everything in sight. Do all these things you did that made you the weird woman. But this time, people wouldn't call it strange, art would just be a matter of taste.

Image: Uncle Google

Talking to strangers

How to write a travel blog when you look at your life and realise you're a settled down woman? I'm a happy Torontonian, for now. This might change in a couple of months or weeks, but at the moment I'm enjoying all the good things this city has to offer. Adventures of the everyday! When life just floats you in the right direction and surprises wait behind closed doors. All you've got to do is get out and open the door, sit yourself down at the bar and order a glass of wine.

So that's exactly what I did last week while hiding from a snowy cold Sunday afternoon in a smoky bluesbar. Two conversations with strangers later I sold my book and got offered a writing job. The power of taking yourself out on a date and talking to the person randomly sitting next to you at the bar! Listen, I love my me-dates, but I love talking more than anything. So when you find yourself hanging out at the same bar as me, you know what time it is.

After five hours of blues and New Orleans jazz I danced home in the dark, the powder covered pavements as my endless outdoor ballroom. Buzzing with energy, sleeping was the last thing on my mind. I wrote and baked oh hell I even did the dishes! At unearthly hours of the night creative energy reaches peaks and there is no way around it. You have to surrender to it, let it flow through you and when you wake up the next day, you may find your room covered in poems, a burnt cake in the oven and a spotless kitchen. 

Last night was another one of those. A poetry slam in an underground venue did crazy things to me. I was laughing, crying my eyes out, cheering and singing along and as soon as it was all over, I ran home as fast as I could. My feet weren't even touching the ground anymore, I swear! Repeating words in my head one of the poets yelled out, followed by cheers, screams, applause. "Inspiration is for amateurs. The rest of us come in every day. We get to work." 

He talked about bohemian nights, live music and creating every single day. Everyone's perspective is different, but for me it was yet another slap in the face. Don't wait around for inspiration to touch your brewing brain with golden ideas. Get to work. I'm not talking about your daily job you do to pay bills. I'm talking about your passion, your creative mind that wants to break free and spend every single hour of the day and night writing, painting, dancing, sculpting, designing, creating. 

So let's get to work! Do what you've got to do. What makes you happy, what feels good. What puts a smile on your face and makes others smile with you. Forget about fear and go back to play. Experiment! Explore! And if you don't know where to start, go out and talk to a stranger.

Autumn coloured city escapes

Even though the city woman inside of me ventured off a long time ago to make room for the ultimate nature loving bush woman, I find myself living downtown Toronto. The biggest city in Canada, complete with crazy traffic, ugly tall buildings and serious faced businessmen in suits. My neighbourhood is called Little Portugal and that's exactly where I like to be. Pasteis de nata, old men smoking outside the sports bar, a 24-hour bakery and a beautiful park named Trinity Bellwoods. I enjoy staying in my little pocket and ignoring the madness of the city. 

The park is where I spend most of my mornings, picking leaves, drinking tea, writing letters, playing frisbee. On weekends I have full days to go on greater adventures. I never liked the saying 'living for the weekend' because it's as if five days of the week are a struggle you just want to get out of as soon as possible, all to shower yourself in a 48-hour shaped slice of freedom. No! I want to enjoy every day! Which is not always easy, when you're working long hours in a warehouse while all you can think about is new writing projects. That's when the movie Factory Girl helps me to feel better, just like Amelie did when I was waitressing. 

In search of great city escapes, I discovered Old Mill on the way to work. A gorgeous green patch surrounded by water and autumn coloured trees. High Park is another one of my favourites to go for a sunny day stroll. If you like ducks, this is your hub. And if you find yourself getting lost in the city maze, hit me up. I will take you out for a cup of coffee and will guide you on the way out of the big smoke and into lush forest freedom. 

Have a wonderful weekend filled with great escapes!

Woohoow! I wrote a book!

Do you know that feeling when things just seem to fall into place? Daydreams of escaping the city to hide under autumn leaves come true when a friend invites you to his cottage in the middle of the woods. Projects that started in your head years ago turn into tangible works of art. A friend who lives on the other side of the world, who you haven't seen in ages, crosses your mind. Two hours later you get an email. That friend. Visiting the city you just moved to. If you would like to go for a drink?

I used to be a massive fan of the sentence: "wow, what a coincidence!" So many random great things were happening. I met a girl on two different sides of Australia, bumped into her again in Portugal and realised we were in New Zealand at the same time. Totally random. We didn't get each other's contacts, no facebook, no numbers. We just HAD to cross paths, something seemed to be telling us. These things happen to me all the time. So it's nice and easy to give them the name 'coincidences'. Guys, let's be honest. There is no such thing as coincidence. 

Last week, in three days time, all three daydream examples came true. I spent Sunday in the forest, far far away from any city light. I met up with a friend from Australia who had a flight layover in Toronto. Another sweet Australian friend will be visiting my new city in two weeks. Maybe I should read the signs and book a flight to Australia to run away from Canadian winter. ;) And last but not least, I published my very first poetry book. A dream that had been wandering around my head for far too long. As the procrastinator I am, I distracted myself with plenty of useless things like insecurities, comparing myself to others, fear of showing my writing to anyone. 

"But it's so personal, what if they don't like it, I'm not good enough" every single thought of silly insecurity moved into my head, decided to create a nest and live there for eternity. My dream was hidden behind a big roadblock, so I decided to cut through the woods and follow different paths instead. In the end, I arrived at the same destination. Instead of dealing with the roadblock and climbing over the damn thing, I took the long way around.

There were paths going left, right, up, down and straight through fields, forests, oceans. I had to learn a lot along the way. I fell on my face many times. I got back up on my feet every time. I arrived at the destination sweaty, muddy but glowing with pride and confidence. I did it. I got to where I wanted to be. I wrote a book filled with 40 poems about my nomadic life, love, anything that stirs my soul. 

If you would like to get your hands on a copy of my book 'Visions of Paradise', please send me an email at jokederoeck@gmail.com and I will provide you with all the information. Examples of my poetry you can find while scrolling through this blog. If your life could use some nomadic poems, it would be my pleasure to spike your daydreams with tales of travels. 

Thank you so much for your support, for reading my blog, sending me sweet words and making me feel like I'm on the right track, even when I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere with roads leading to every direction possible and impossible. I send you all my love, gratitude and with my book, I will send you a handwritten letter with a personal message. 

Thank you for making this happen! You guys ROCK my socks!

An ode to grandmas

I came home to a lovely surprise a couple of days ago. A letter was waiting for me on the doormat. Handwritten, filled with poetry and love. All the way from my grandma's kitchen table in Belgium to my door in Toronto. I ran up the stairs with a ridiculously big smile on my face, itching to open the envelope and soak up the hugs she sent me. Many of you know I'm a big fan of snail mail. I am that person who sits down and writes letters, seals them with a lipstick kiss and maybe even a breeze of perfume. That's how I communicate, it's what I love to do. 

Watching me write in cafes, I catch people in the corner of my eye, smiling at my old fashioned ways. I'm pretty sure I'm on some stranger's instagram, with hashtag oldskool or grandma or dinosaur or something. Because nobody writes letters anymore. Only grandmothers. Right? 

For as long as I remember, I've been telling people I can't wait to be a grandma. Honestly, I'm happy to skip the whole motherhood thing and just be a grandmother. Bake cake, drink coffee, talk for hours, play cards, watch old movies, make sure no one will ever be hungry again. It sounds like my kind of heaven. Maybe it's autumn bringing this out in me, but I love cosiness more than anything. Writing letters with a cup of tea and Ella Fitzgerald when skies turn grey is one of my favourite things to do. 

I have a couple of friends who share my vision and even though we make wild party plans, we always end up cooking soulfood, opening a bottle of red wine and talking all night until we fall asleep on the couch under a blanket, with empty glasses in our hands. Years ago I suffered from a severe FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) so I could never really let go of the idea 'I should be shaking my booty right now instead of cuddling up in PJ's and discussing life's questions.' Now I love it. No regrets, no denial, I am a grandma at heart an I embrace it. 

My love bought me flowers the other day and the lady at the counter actually asked him: are those for your grandma? When he explained they were for his girlfriend the woman started laughing hysterically. 'Those are old lady flowers!' She yelled out. Little did she know that is exactly what I want. To all women who feel the same: be the grandma you are! Own it! To all grandmothers: you rock my world. So much love, wisdom, cosiness and recipes that leave masterchefs puzzled, all in one person. 

Who run the world?

Grandmas!

Dirty cash

I don't know how this works, but when I travel I'm so good at living on the cheap side of life. Usually I work 3 months and travel the rest of the year like a happy gypsy woman. I would live in a car and take baths in rivers but that's all mighty fine. Now, for the first time in a year, I received a paycheck. I'm doing the city woman thing, working Monday to Friday, owning a public transit pass, paying rent, cooking dinner. All with the intention of saving up for future travels. That's where the mysterious phenomenon appears. I earn money, I stare at it, I get a bit sweaty, and suddenly it's gone. 

I blame the weekend for working its magic on my wallet: bibbedi bobbdi boo and empty is my pocket! I thought the structured city life would make me morph into a person who pays her bills early and finds a good balance between work and play. 

Hahahahahahahaha! 

I'm good five days a week, but when Friday comes around, I go all out. I notice between Friday and Monday most of my thoughts start with: I work night shifts, I deserve to get a massage/ go out for brunch + dinner + midnight snacks/ buy flowers/ treat myself to beautiful expensive books/ grab a million coffees a day to keep my eyes open and my brain function. And this, my friend, is how I stay true to my broke self. I strongly believe money needs to be rolling. It doesn't mean buying material things to fill up your home and head. I'm talking about experiences, gifts, making someone's day. 

I'm all for supporting local makers. Even as the broke woman I am, I will always choose to spend the extra 3 bucks on fresh farmer's market produce instead of spending a dollar in a big supermarket chain. Mc Donalds will never see a penny of my pay. I prefer to have less money but know I'm supporting a local's dream venture instead of spending cash on gazillionaires who couldn't care less about your hard earned dollar.

My motto is 'live and let live', so I will never point fingers or tell people what (not) to do, but I do like planting seeds in people's brains. While travelling through Australia, I lived on minute noodles for months, thinking it's the only option to survive as a poor backpacker. Treating your body like shit is not the way. I'm currently gathering and writing down tips and tricks from fellow world travellers on how to live cheap and stay cheerful. All you've got to do, is be creative. Watch this space, I will tell you more about this new project soon!

The funny thing is, while being on the road, I can see the possibilities of a life less money centered. But as soon as I move to a city, the dollars vanish and worries arise. Building a life around a job asks for dedication and spending half your paycheck on things you actually need in order to keep your job. Like rent, a car or public transit pass, work outfit, maybe a gym membership, and in my case: bottomless cups of coffee to keep going. And then the weekend comes around and you want to treat yourself after a long week of hard work. So you spend the other half of you pay. And that's how you transform yourself from broke traveller to broke city woman.

Autumn hideaways

Autumn smells like leaves changing colours, dirty chai and rain on the streets. I don't think I have ever enjoyed the change of season more than here. Maybe I'm just afraid of what the Toronto winter will bring. Whenever somebody tells me about the insane temperatures (-30°C) I buy a sweater. I figure if I wear all eight of them at the same time, I should be fine. But for now, I'm happy in my summer dress. 

Toronto is beautiful, even when the city is covered in grey. People don't stop smiling and yelling compliments to each other. As soon as I arrived in Canada, I noticed something peculiar. Something all Canadians share. Their politeness. Their over the top ridiculously being polite. It's very nice and charming, but sometimes strange. On a dancefloor, when I would accidentally hit someone with my arm while waving enthusiastically or step on their foot or something clumsy I do when I dance, THEY would apologize. I'm sorry for you hitting me in the face with your elbow? Really? Crazy polite.

Toronto takes things to another level. People actually scream compliments at you from across the street. LOVE YOUR EARRINGS! WHERE DID YOU GET THEM? And before you know it, you are yelling an entire conversation at each other. I'm constantly walking around with a smile on my face. Toronto is being good to me and I feel so grateful. When I finish work, I get treated to the most spectacular sunrises. Pink clouds send me to sleep and when people get excited for lunch break, I wake up. The park is ready for picnic blankets and the farmer's market. 

A cafe filled with people opens the door to let outside autum air in. Body heat turns the bar into an oven but I don't mind. Coffee scents and Erykah Badu's voice draw me in. Afternoons are for writing the hours away. Tea cups and lipstick stains until night falls. I share the late train to work with party people and I don't want to miss out so I put on psychedelic tights, golden shoes and glitter sweaters. I can read it from everyone's eyes. Bring on the night.

Life at night

I've been living

on the night shift

side of life

working at midnight

singing along to

late mixtapes

to keep me going

running on caffeine

naps all through the day

while the city sleeps

I stay awake 

fill up my coffee cup

until I start to shake

on the 7 am train

shoulders of strangers

are awkward pillows

it's easy to doze off

dream the mornings away

with the ticking of the rain

I rise and wash

the smell of soap off my face

I play old songs

try and dance my body awake

it's like I'm in a constant jetlag state

walking around in PJ's all day

but that's okay

because I'm living 

on the night shift side of town

when you go to sleep

that's when I go out.

Harvest moon

As autumn falls, I find myself rolled up in a blanket, turning life around. Away from the usual, the comfortable, free spirited soaking up the sun taking it all day by day, kissing faces, meeting places and never looking back. Moving on endlessly and inexhaustably. Until that day heatwaves settled for a cloud of rain and it poured and poured down the drain. Harvest moon lit up the night and all of a sudden it was all so bright: get out of your nest of comfort, of living life on the road. Change like the colours of the leaves and settle down on the ground until the wind sweeps you off your feet. Then the time is right to move on and leave it all behind. But for now, this is where I stay. Where I rest that travelled head of mine.

It can be hard to keep moving all the time. To gain balance it's good to stand still for a while. To look around and let life seep in slowly. Through eyes and smiles, conversations with strangers. New cities are a maze of yelling people. To find your place in the labyrinth, you've got to use your voice. Climb the backyard ladder onto the roof and scream at the top of your lungs: Toronto, I love your quirkiness,

the way you set the sky on fire every night, 

the realness of all the fake, 

the ridiculousness of the diamonds and pearls part of town, 

the ease of getting lost,

the magic that happens right before sunrise.

I tell everyone I'm not a city woman anymore, because it's hard to connect to what's real when all your eyes touch is buildings and paved roads. Life feels out of context when you've got to wait in traffic every day on your way to work, and on your way back. But there is something that attracts me to this big busy city. The smiles people offer me while walking around the neighbourhood. Random expressions of art and poetry in alleyways. Music blasting wine sipping enjoying the last of the sunrays. Strangers with strange propositions. Catch ups with long lost friends. Having a key burning in my pocket. The feeling of coming home. 

Roadtrip through Canada

With a mighty fine car like Patti it's hard to live a life without roadtrips. I was happily driving around from festival to festival until a slightly bigger roadtrip mission fell from the skies. My parents found cheap flights from Brussels to Montreal... So I promised to pick them up at the airport and travel around Quebec with them. I was in Britsh Columbia, thinking nothing of the mission I had to accomplish. With a snap of the fingers and the blink of an eye, I would be on the other side of the country. Easy!

I ignored everyone who told me Patti was too old for the drive and would fall apart along the way. I ignored the fact that I drive like a farmer and have no parking skills. Even more, I ignored the advice people gave me to just book a flight to save money and time. Why would I fly when I have a magical car that can drive me 5000 km to where I need to be? It was a big mission and I get bored easily singing songs by myself so I looked for funky people to join the trip. 

In Banff, I picked up Verena, Aiden and about 15 thousand bags and we were ready to go! When you share a tiny space with a hilarious German woman and sweet Australian man you know good times will be a rollin'. Many states were crossed, free camp sites were found and after spending more than 70 hours in a car together, taboos seized to exist. Our mutual love for JT and Backstreet Boys songs resulted in many afternoons of car karaoke. 

We followed the same highway all through the country but the views changed constantly. From the rockies over prairies, blue skies and rain storms, shooting stars and a full moon. Bottomless cups of coffee were my fetish. No quality, but quantity was what counted. The barista man in the back seat did not approve and suggested we'd look for real good coffee in Winnipeg. I got excited. After days of driving and sweating I was going to be in a real city. How do people act again? Is it okay to wear psychedelic tights and smell like car? My travel companions said no and we decided to take a shower just before entering the big city. 

I could write a book about our two hours in Winnipeg but let's just say the coffee was great. It was really good, but it was even better to get out of there. We stopped for little lake swims and large waterfall selfies. City madness reached its highest level when we visited Toronto on a Saturday afternoon in what must have been 58 degrees. With a fried brain at the tipping point of delirium, I got in the car to drive to our last stop before the grand finale: Ottawa. By that point I learned how to behave like a classy city woman, shaved legs and bras and all. Until I saw blue lipstick and went a little crazy. 

Montreal is a whole other story. Goodbye hugs one day and welcome kisses the next. A car and heart filled with love and sweet sweet memories. Singing homemade lyrics and crying from laughter. Countless hours of talking while driving through the country I like to call my home. 

Oh Canada, you gorgeous thing!